


And then the path forked left

by ShadowSpires



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Gen, Not-Generals AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowSpires/pseuds/ShadowSpires
Summary: Cody is assigned to bodyguard Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Excited to meet one of the legendary Jedi who were supposed to be their Generals, he shows up early to his meeting. It goes sideways from there.





	And then the path forked left

Cody walks down the hallway of the Jedi Temple, following his guide, a near-human Padawan with startlingly purple eyes and hair that looks like silver wire. He keeps his face forward, but his eyes roam wildly under the concealing shield of his helmet over the interior of a place no clone had ever been.

 

They had heard about the temple in training. Heard about the Jedi, been trained and groomed and prepared to serve under them, to follow them into battle.

 

Then the Jedi had refused. And none of the clones knew why. If the Admirals who had eventually been placed in charge of them knew, they didn't consider it important to tell the clones the reasons.

 

They didn't have to know anything beyond their orders.

 

Then the order had come that Cody was to be assigned as the bodyguard to a Jedi Master who was being targeted by the separatists. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had earned a name for himself, a reputation that had permeated even the closed, cloistered ranks of the army. The Negotiator, who had ended the conflict in the Kirsal system. The GAR could have taken the planet, of course, but Cody's estimations had been that it would cost them dearly and he'd been tense in the nerve-jangling week of negotiations -- the 501st and 104th were both slated for that battle, and Cody feared for both his friends. Admirals Yularen and Ogeni were two of the best Admirals to serve under when it came to using their men's lives wisely, but that could only mean so much when attempting to take entrenched positions across an entire solar system.

 

But the Negotiator had brought the conflict to an end without a shot fired, without a single life lost, thousands of brothers still alive at the ends of the week who would have been dead. Cody could not be anything but grateful. They had been designed and raised for war, but that did not mean he could not appreciate a peaceful solution. He's seen enough brothers die, enough sentients die for defending their homes, when the only difference between them and the people Cody was supposed to be defending was what side of the conflict their government stood on.

 

The peaceful solution on Kirsal was something to whisper thanks to, in the night.  

 

The attacks targeting the Jedi had started the next week.

 

So to be ordered away from his post to serve as bodyguard for the Negotiator was something between an honor and the most grievous insult he'd ever been dealt.

 

He'd been half way between ecstatic and furious. The veteran and commander in him, who fought and survived, and did everything he could to ensure his men did the same, was livid. Why him? It was not conceited of him to think that he was the best to lead his men: he had passed with highest marks and attained the rank of Marshall Commander. Surely someone else was better suited for this job, one of the ARCs, or Rep-Coms, someone who did not have an entire system army relying on them! Wooley was good, he'd do well enough, but Cody was hoping this situation would resolved soon enough that he could get back to his men.

 

His own admiral, Tarkin, didn't much care how objectives were achieved, only that they were, no matter the cost to brother's lives. It had been up to Cody, would temporarily -- please, by the Depths, let it be temporary -- be up to Wooley, to think outside their training, to improvise, to slip between the tiny cracks in the regulations, to make sure that enough of them lived through each battle to make the next one possible, as Tarkin's lack of care bled them away like a hemorrhaging wound. Echo would continue to be invaluable at Wooley's side as he had been at Cody's for finding the loopholes in the regulations to allow what little wiggle room they managed.

 

What little room he couldn't help but think they shouldn't have needed to fight and scheme and plot for. Maybe, maybe, if the Jedi had taken command of them the way they were supposed to have, they wouldn't have to hide so much. He couldn't help but look around the temple, free of outward signs of war, almost glowing with a peace so foreign it nearly grated on his senses, and wonder. What would it have been like, if the Jedi had claimed the army they had ordered.

 

And yet, Cody kept having to forcefully remind himself to keep his gait out of his usual marching pace. The youngling had kept sending him nervous looks as his boots thumped on the ground, until he'd been forced to lighten his step. It felt  _ bizarre _ to be stalking through what was supposed to be friendly territory like he was infiltrating. It felt jarring and wrong that the Jedi, who were supposed to be leading them in battle, were so disconnected from them that they somehow felt safer with him gliding through their halls like he was about to attack then they did with the casual march-step of clones in familiar and safe territory.

 

They weren't familiar with each other. Maybe that was part of the problem. The part of Cody that was still a hopeful shiny, an enthusiastic cadet daydreaming about the Jedi General he would serve, who he had risen so high and trained so hard for, was giddy. Maybe, maybe if he could get to know this Jedi, he could find out what had caused them to reject the clones they had commissioned. If there was some flaw in them or their training, he was sure they could correct or overcome it.

 

Great doors loomed before them, slightly ajar. Cody's sharp ears, and the sharper audio pickups in his helmet, could pick up voices ahead in the room. Two humanoids, males, he automatically categorized. Older than him, by the timbre of their voices. One held the Coruscanti lilt that, paired with that voice pattern, Cody recognized as belonging to the Negotiator. The perfect memory the Kaminoans had programmed into them make sure he remembered, eve if he had only heard the man through broadcasts before, never in person.

 

Excitement fluttered through him as he stepped up to the door, nodding his thanks at the youngling, who shot him a bright smile and darted off again. Despite his best efforts, long seated and deeply ingrained training was telling him that this was a being he was supposed to follow, who was supposed to have his loyalty, and his trust, and --

 

"-- I don't need, a bodyguard, Mace! Especially not one of the  _ clones!" _

 

\-- and who didn't want his service. Any of their service.

 

Ah. He had... somehow forgotten that, in his excitement.

 

The Jedi didn't want to lead them in battle, didn't want even this much contact with one of them, it seemed.

 

With a  _ clone _ .

 

The choking resentment that slammed through him wasn't quite a surprise. It was a familiar companion, but he had somehow, somehow allowed his guard to drop, allowed himself to hope.

 

Now he was here, ordered into the service of a man who did not want anything to do with him, or the war, while his men died in his absence. Grief twined into the resentment as he pulled off his bare white helmet, setting it at his hip. He was a clone. He would not hide that. His brothers and his service were his strength and pride. He would do this thing he was ordered to do, and then he would go back to them. At least he would have the story of the walk through the temple to tell them. The story of the bright, bouncy little Padawan untouched by war, who smiled at him like he wasn't soaked in blood. If he could not bring the Jedi back for his brothers, at least he could bring them stories of what they were dying to protect.

  
  
  
  


************

 

Obi-Wan had clamped a firm arm on Mace's arm when the Council session let out, holding him back for one last ditch attempt at convincing the Head of the Order of reason.

 

It hadn't been going well. For all his famed negotiation skills, they were both helpless in the face of this particular order.

 

It wasn't even the end of the world, it was just one more annoyance in a string of them, boiling his temper over the edge.

 

"I'll never be seen as a neutral party in negotiations if I'm being followed around by a GAR soldier, Mace! Forget that most of the Galaxy alternately sees them as abominations or mindless killing machines! Most of these negotiations are so delicate they only work because of the perceived vulnerability I project by going alone and unaccompanied! Throw a bodyguard in that mess and it will be like screaming at the top of my lungs that I don't trust them and am there in bad faith, as a blind instrument of the Senate."

 

"It is a direct order from the Chancellor, Obi-Wan," Mace said, tired frustration in his own voice. "And as much as it grates we are still beholden to the Senate. We can't refuse this one right now, our political capital is too low. We can't argue without directly accusing the Chancellor of stymieing our peacekeeping efforts, and that will get the lot of us lynched. We're already facing enough censure about not taking up positions in the army, never mind that the Jedi haven't held military positions since the Old Republic!"

 

Obi-Wan grit his teeth. He knew that, damn it all! It didn't make this the least bit less frustrating.

 

"The idea is completely ridiculous anyway! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself! Force take it, I'm a Jedi! I don't need a bodyguard, Mace! Especially not one of the  _ clones!" _

 

A blast of resentment from behind him makes him close his eyes. He doesn't need the slight widening of Mace's eyes gazing behind him to know what he will find when he turns.

 

Behind him, a clone stands at attention in the doorway, his armor an unrelieved expanse of white only interrupted by the small orange pattern on his left shoulder that marked him a Commander. His featureless white helmet rests at his hip, baring his neutral face, creased only by the vicious scar that curled around his left eye. 

 

Into the silence following Obi-Wan's words, the clone speaks, voice even as the reflecting pools in the south meditation gardens.

 

"Clone Commander 2224 reporting for duty, Master Jedi, as ordered."

 

There is a faint flavor of emphasis on the first and last words, but otherwise the man's bearing is unruffled and unmarked by the resentment -- and grief? -- that saturates his Force presence.

 

Obi-Wan has to wonder even as he turns, gathering his Jedi composure around him and trying not to curse aloud, who exactly they had pulled for bodyguard duty. The man has a diplomatic bearing, the marks of diplomatic training in his countenance and his words. The soldier has drawn his lines in the sand without breaking his respectful attitude, and with barely more than a shift in inflection: he is a clone and not ashamed of it, and he is only here because he had been ordered to be.

 

_ Kriff. _

 

Despite his bitching to Mace, Obi-Wan knew that this is unavoidable. A direct order from the Chancellor is not something that the clone -- 2224? Kriff, sentients identified with no more than numbers and Obi-Wan  _ burned _ with the knowledge-- can disobey, nor is it something that the Order can ignore without very good reason. Which they don't have, not without creating more of a fuss then their tattered public image can take right now, even with Obi-Wan's -- and other less talked about members of the diplomatic corps -- successes in negotiation.

 

The Order had just barely avoided being thrown into the front lines of the war by citing the longstanding tradition of neutrality of the Order. They were still facing censure by the media despite the increasingly irritated, though understanding and supportive, Order PR team.

 

This gesture of assigning Obi-Wan a bodyguard is ostensibly made out of concern for the attempts on Obi-Wan's life by the Separatists. It cannot not be refused, despite the absurdity of placing a soldier in charge of the protection of a warrior Jedi who has both a lifetime of training and the Force on his side. He does not need protection, and he doesn't need this man pulled off the battlefield, where he doubtless holds a vital position. If Obi-Wan is reading him correctly, and the admirals who were placed in charge of the army when the Jedi refused have any sense, this man has more important things to be doing with his time than hovering unnecessarily at Obi-Wan's heels. The Chancellor hadn't told him who exactly was being sent, so he hadn't been able to do any preliminary research, but this man's presence practically screams solidity, strength, and calm under fire.

 

Obi-Wan had not wanted to start off on a bad foot with the man who would be shadowing his every move for who knew how long.

 

He also hadn't been expecting him for at least another hour.

 

"At ease, Commander," Mace says, waving a hand in his direction, before the silence can grow too uncomfortable as Obi-Wan scrambles to gather his thoughts in the face of this misstep.

 

The clone commander relaxes minutely, hands shifting behind his back, stance widening a little, but it is still clearly a military bearing, and just as clearly, clearly done only as a response to a perceived order. He is on high alert and guarded -- against the Jedi.

 

_ Force-fuck a Sith. _

 

The Negotiator, indeed.

 

_ Kriff. _

 

"Pleased to meet you, Commander 2224," Obi-Wan says, honest despite everything. The man's Force signature is bright and bold, loud in the way that most Jedi's are not, with a lifetime of shielding lessons behind them. There are deep currents there that mesh pleasantly with his own. The number feels vile in his mouth though, wrong. It cannot encompass what all this man is, and Obi-Was asks almost without thinking: "Do you have a name you prefer to be called, Commander?"

 

"Yes, Sir," comes the response, accompanied by a blast of intense surprise but also wariness. And nothing further, despite the implied question. The Jedi gets the impression that if he asks the direct question his words implied he would gain an answer, but he would lose even more ground with the man in front of him.

 

_ *Force* fuck a Sith with a karking *lightsaber.* _

  
He hasn't screwed up this badly on a delicate situation since he was a Padawan.


End file.
